


your disco stick

by icedmachinery, icemachine



Category: Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainworms, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24939886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedmachinery/pseuds/icedmachinery, https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemachine/pseuds/icemachine
Summary: Both the Spirit and his friends would kill him for thinking this, but honestly, the “Terrible Dr. Tyme” has a surprisingly good aesthetic.Larry had spent the entire 1980s in his bedroom.(AU where instead of Tyme skating with Rita, he skates with Larry.)
Relationships: Jonathan Tyme/Larry Trainor
Comments: 15
Kudos: 72





	your disco stick

**Author's Note:**

> don't look at me do not look at me im gay

Both the Spirit _and_ his friends would kill him for thinking this, but honestly, the “Terrible Dr. Tyme” has a surprisingly good aesthetic. 

Larry had spent the entire 1980s in his bedroom. The concept of being gay wormed through the media and news, and it mostly was never painted in a flattering light. He remembers—

He remembers a lot, about what happened, as the Spirit had forced him numerous times to watch the news, to deal with the sickened feelings that bubbled inside of him. It was a mixture of inexplicable fear that something would happen to him next and an inexplicable fear that Rita and Niles would figure out his secret. So: he slept the 1980s away, mostly. He liked some of the music but the fashion was terrible. It was always about self preservation; he couldn’t escape the reminder of what he perceived to be his ultimate flaw, and isolated himself in an attempt to make sure that his best friend and the man who saved his life wouldn’t be disgusted by him.

It was all stupid, now that he thinks about it.

Rita, at least, would never leave him for that. For loving.

_Bad Girls_ by Donna Summer plays as Jonathan Tyme spins on roller skates; as Larry watches his legs move swiftly he reminds himself that they are here for the continuinium and nothing else. In any other situation—-if Tyme was not a “madman” and this wasn’t a dimension that exists outside of time—-he would want to participate in it, to experience what he missed—-to skate around and (most likely) fall on his ass and get up again and skate even more.

He can breathe now. He has exhaled.

It’s incredibly uncomfortable, however, when Tyme skates over to them and — despite his clock helmet — seems to be looking right at Larry, his body language pointed entirely in Larry’s direction. 

“Cool cats,” says Tyme, “you ready to get down and jive in the best of times?”

There’s a stirring in Larry’s chest that is definitely _not_ the Negative Spirit.

Jesus fuck.

He’s so messed up.

“Well—”

“I’m Dr. Jonathan Tyme,” he continues. “With a Y, because why not?”

And then—

_Then—-_

“And you,” he says, poking Larry’s arm, “are Larry Trainor. I heard about your space mission, baby. I watched it. The bravery that takes, man. Mad respect.”

Jane and Cliff exchange a glance that unmistakably says _is this guy seriously flirting with Larry?_ It’s not an inappropriate question—-he can’t be flirting with Larry, it’s just - it’s - it _can’t_ be happening. It feels as if Tyme is staring through him, as if his body is utterly transparent.

He’s _so—-_

Niles described him as insane. This is insane.

“Anyway, enough talking. Let’s get _down._ You’re either in the party or out of the party, you feel me?”

With a beam from the mineral embedded into his forehead, Larry’s boots are replaced with dark green roller skates, a perfect fit. Tyme holds out his hand.

“Oh, um,” Larry says, “I’ve never… actually skated before.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall; that would be a real party killer, wouldn’t it?”

Larry inhales, grasps Tyme’s hand—-he immediately moves his fingers to entangle them with Larry’s, which feels entirely alien at first. 

Unfortunately, he warms up to the contact. Oh. _Oh._ He has missed contact like this, hasn’t held hands with anyone since J—-

Maybe Larry is out of his mind as well. There is a possibility that he’s gone mad.

Tyme leads him further into the crowd. His grip on Larry is tight, but not out of violence; it’s more like a guide, like Tyme really _is_ trying to help him, to prevent Larry from slipping. 

“This right here,” he says, “August 8th, 1980, at a roller disco off I-95… this is where humanity peaked.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Larry replies, the awkward feeling inside of him continuing to froth. “Didn’t get out much in the eighties.”

“That’s awful! You ask me, it had everything. The fashion, the music, the aesthetic, all perfect.” Silence. Momentary silence. “Have you ever heard this song?”

“I don’t really remember. Probably. Somehow I know the song, but I was kind of occupied at the time it came out.”

“Ah,” Tyme says, and one of the eyes on his helmet closes in a wink. “I see.”

“Not like that,” Larry protests, his voice rising. “I was… well, depressed, mostly.”

“Not anymore, I hope. Hey, check this out.”

Another beam, focused on another skater. It speeds them up, and they begin to zoom around the rink, light-fast.

Fuck, Tyme really is a mad-man.

“Hey,” he says. It’s sudden. The inflection is different; deeper, serious. “You’re not here for my continuinium, are you?”

Larry feels an odd attraction to honesty. “That was the original intention, but to be completely honest, I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”

“I get it,” Tyme tells him, and — _oh —_ now Larry is being spun, his body twirling in place, guided by Tyme’s (very toned) arms. 

And then Tyme places his hand on Larry’s back and _dips_ him. Larry cannot help but stare —- _he’s insane he’s insane he’s insane he’s insane —--_ and Tyme gazes back, keeps Larry in this position for what feels like a decade.

“Larry Trainor,” he says; it sounds winded, out of breath. “How about I give you a taste of what you missed out on?”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> yeah.


End file.
